


been so good

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Ben, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Daddy Dom Rey, Daddy Kink, F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, Pegging, Strap-Ons, soft D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22752847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: “I see,” Rey says, and Ben wants to kick himself, take it back, immediately. Of course, Rey is Rey. She doesn’t need to be reminded of who she’s not. Of his baggage, the mess he carries inside that’s always threatening to overflow.“'Princess', sounds like you were spoiled. Were you?”“No,” he tells her quickly, sure it’s the correct answer this time, gripping the phone tighter to his burning ear.“Hmm,” Rey says. “Would you like to be?”Or: Ben and Rey go out for waffles, then stay in for soft daddy kink.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 80
Kudos: 195
Collections: Queerly Beloved Reylo Fics, Reylo Hidden Gems, Reylo Pegging Fics





	been so good

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely self-indulgent porn, where Rey is Ben's daddy, everything is soft, and nothing hurts. 
> 
> Ben is a bi disaster; Hux is mentioned very briefly as his ex, but otherwise makes no appearance.
> 
> I hope you like it, [Coq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coq/pseuds/Coq)! Happy belated, uh, however many holidays it's been!
> 
> Thanks for audiencing it, [Gen. Clamlent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oorsprong/pseuds/oorsprong), ilu.

“What do you like to be called?” Rey asks. “Baby? Baby boy? Baby _girl_?” 

Ben breathes into the phone, glad she can’t see him, the red flooding through his face, his cheeks, up to the tips of his suddenly hot ears. 

“Ben?” she prompts, as he exhales again, loud and sullen.

“It’s not a gender thing, or, well, maybe, not really. But my ex used to call me ‘princess’. I liked it. A lot. But you’re not him.”

“I see,” Rey says, and Ben wants to kick himself, to take it back, immediately. Of course, Rey is Rey. She doesn’t need to be reminded of who she’s not. Of his baggage, the mess he carries inside that’s always threatening to overflow. 

“'Princess', sounds like you were spoiled. Were you?”

“No,” he tells her quickly, sure it’s the correct answer this time, gripping the phone tighter to his burning ear.

“Hmm,” Rey says. “Would you like to be?”  


* * *

  
She’s already in a corner booth with a cup of coffee when he gets there, and he stops for a moment, stares, taking her in. She’s cut her hair since he last saw her, and it’s slicked back, gelled so it looks almost wet. He isn’t sure what he expected, maybe a suit, something boxy and masculine, or her usual uniform of dress, boots, and leggings, but Rey’s got a plain white t-shirt on under a beat-up leather jacket, tangle of bracelets peeking out from under the cuffs. She’s a cigarette tucked behind her ear away from playing bad boy in an after-school special, and Ben might be over a decade out of Chandrila U, but he feels immediately self-conscious of his work khakis and oxfords, his button-down collar folded down neatly over his sweater.

“Hi, you,” Rey says, looking up, her smile so wide and genuine that he doesn’t know how to respond, what to say, if he should sit, until she gestures across the booth.

“I ordered already,” she says when he reaches for a menu, and right on cue, a waiter appears to top off Rey’s coffee and slide a frosted mug with a straw in Ben’s direction. 

“Oreo shake. Waffles’ll be right out,” and Ben doesn’t think he’s told her it’s the only thing he likes here, but she knows anyway, and he fiddles with the straw before sucking it into his mouth, the ice cream slushy and thick and deliciously full of crumbled up chocolate cookie.

He offered to make reservations when she’d suggested dinner, but she just laughed.

“I’m not going anywhere they don’t give you crayons with your placemat,” she’d said, and true to her word, she has the basket of nubby Crayolas on her side of the booth. Ben reaches over and grabs a blue one, fills in the balloons on his placemat neatly, though his hands are shaking a little on the grip.

“Hey,” Rey says, finding his foot with hers under the table, hooking her ankle lightly around his. “We don’t have to do anything else today. Well, we _have_ to have waffles. I’m definitely here for waffles. But after that, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, OK, darling?”

 _Darling_ , her voice echoes in his head as he picks up fork and knife. As he watches her pour on the syrup, careful, into each little square. As he shoves his card into the greasy check holder. She almost certainly said it to calm him, reassure him, exactly the same way she says it to Beebee when the round little dog needs to be fed a pill, or to her car when it makes the loud thumping noise, _come on, darling, you can do this, you can do this_.

“I want to,” he says, when they exit out into the parking lot, and then, because he should’ve said it already, should’ve told her the second he saw her, should tell her every day, if she lets him, “you look so -- “ Ben pauses. Looks around, making sure only she can hear. “ -- so fucking good in that, daddy.”  


* * *

  
“Come here, baby,” Rey says, coming out of the bathroom, still in her jeans and leather jacket, and he shivers a bit, not from the cold, but from the weight of her gaze on him as he shuffles from foot to foot. He can imagine what she sees, his too-long hair doing its best to hide his ears. His too-tall, too-large body packed into the awkward khakis, the bland button-down. Still, she opens her arms, motions him closer.

One hand slides up around the back of his neck; Rey stands on tiptoe to reach, and he wishes he could make himself smaller, fold into her with ease as she grips the other hand around his wrist, stroking the pulse point. She’s wearing perfume, or cologne, her sweat and the comforting scent of worn leather mixing with something else familiar, smoky and sweet. He shivers again, can’t help it, the hot twist of anticipation rocking through him; he’s too eager, too ready, too aware of just how much he wants.

“OK?” Rey asks.

“Yeah,” he answers honestly. He’s stopped trying to analyze why he’s like this. His therapist says it’s perfectly all right to explore these scenarios without shame, and though he isn’t sure if he’s got that last part fully covered, Rey is certainly unashamed as she tugs him against her, lets him feel her against his thigh, the thick length of her strap-on obvious even through the layers of clothes. 

“You’re so hard, daddy,” he whispers, rocking into it a little, and gasps when she tightens her hand on his wrist. 

“Not yet,” Rey warns, backing up a little, pulling at his hand as she goes, leading him towards the bed. “Stand right here, facing me, just like that.” 

She sits down on the bed, runs her fingers idly over the fly of her jeans, the denim tented up with the hard ridge of the strap-on.

“Take your shirt off,” she says, rubbing herself in wider circles, like she’s stroking the head of her cock. Ben watches her, transfixed, hands frozen at his collar until she nods at him again. 

“What did I say, baby?”

“Sorry,” he says, hurrying to pop the buttons. He undoes his belt, pulling the shirt from his pants, and lets it drop to the floor. Reaches for his zipper and yanks it open. His dick twitches inside his briefs, and Ben fights the urge to reach for it, palm it, mirroring Rey, give it a rough squeeze through the cotton. She shakes her head, but she doesn’t look bothered, the edges of her mouth quirking up just a bit.

“Such a needy baby. Take everything else off now,” she says, unbuttoning the fly of her jeans to take out her cock. It’s thick, glossy blue silicone, standing up in her grip, and she gives it a few strokes all the way up, breath hitching like she can really feel it. 

He kicks the rest of his clothes to the side, facing up to her inspection; this is probably the part he feels the most uncertain about, the most uncomfortable, though he is almost sure Rey doesn’t hate what she sees. He’s worked hard on everything he thought he could change, his stomach, his chest, arms, thighs, gone from lanky soft to broad, solid. Too broad, probably, too large, too much to be standing here, asking daddy if he’s permitted to touch. 

“Look at you,” Rey says, like she’s reading his mind, “pretty boy,” that one, almost certainly just for his benefit. Of all the compliments he’s ever likely to receive, nobody’d honestly describe him as pretty, but Rey goes on, thumbing at the textured, shiny-blue crown of her dick. Ben’s mouth waters, his own cock bobbing up between his thighs, filled out, dark red and veering just a little to the right.

“Pretty hair. Pretty mouth. Pretty tits. Oh, you’re blushing, baby, don’t you know you have pretty tits? Touch your nipples for me, go on.”

Obediently, he reaches up to squeeze them both, tweaking them between thumb and index finger, like she asks. It doesn’t do much for him, not on its own, but the way Rey looks at him sends a throbbing pulse through his cock, through the pit of his stomach. Her hand’s gone still on the strap-on; she’s focused on him, leaning back, hitching her bottom lip between her teeth. 

He pulls on his nipples again, eyes involuntarily drawn to the swell of her breasts underneath her thin white shirt, and she smirks up at him, shimmies her shoulders out of her jacket to give him a better view. 

“May I?” Ben asks; she nods, and he drops to his knees, scrambles across the floor to where she’s seated, and cups each breast, sucks on her peaked nipples greedily right through the shirt, leaving wet, see-through trails as he moves from one to the next. Rey sighs, spreading her legs wider to allow him room, arches her back, pressing her tits up against his eager mouth. Her cock brushes up into him, trapped between them, warm from her thighs and her hands, and she runs a hand over the top of his head, gently pushing him down to it. 

“What do you think, baby, do you want to suck it?”

“I - ,” he says, pulling back from her chest, unsure if he should stop, safeword, tell her he doesn’t need her to play it up this much if she doesn’t like it; that she doesn’t have to be -- _women can definitely be daddy_ , she’d said it herself when they discussed it -- but again, she sounds like she can see straight through him, her hand tangling lightly in his hair, short nails scratching gently at his scalp.

“I think you want to. Am I right?”

She is. 

Maybe it’s true that he wasn’t sure how far she’d want it to go, had fretted how much she’d think was too much. Despite that, he knows exactly where he stands, the disapproving voices in his mind, the baggage, the mess, everything that eats at him and won’t let go, reduced to one very simple directive: do everything Rey tells him to, and don’t think about anything else.

Ben relaxes.

He braces an elbow on the bed beside her, resting his other arm on her hip, and lowers his face to the smooth, warm silicone, presses his mouth to the top of the crown. It tastes a little bit like plastic, and a lot like her, her clean sweat, the dampness of her thighs inside her jeans. He can guess at the straps holding it tightly to her body as he licks around the molded ridge at the top, then flattens his tongue to swipe over the underside.

“That’s my boy,” Rey hums, brushing the hair back from his forehead only to grip it tightly in one hand. “Now open your pretty mouth.”

The dildo is girthy, thick, the curved head meant to stimulate the g-spot, or the prostate. He struggles to wrap his lips around it as Rey tilts her hips up, pushing it over his tongue, filling him, bumping into the roof of his mouth. Spit runs down his chin almost immediately, sloppy trails of it coating the silicone and making a wet, squelching noise as he pulls up and opens wider, trying to breathe through his nose. The give is different from an actual cock, the softer, stickier outer texture balanced by a weighty, solid inner core, and Ben stretches his jaw, swallows around it, gag reflex still making him hiccough. 

His eyes are watering when he lifts up again; it happens every time he sucks dick, his face instantly going messy with tears and saliva, splotchy and red, his lips raw and puffy. 

“It’s OK, baby,” Rey says, guiding him up to look at her. “I know you haven’t done this before. Go ahead, try again.”

“Yes, daddy,” he nods, running his tongue over his lips, getting them good and wet before he lowers his mouth down to her dick once more. Rey doesn’t push up this time, letting him find the pace. She reaches down instead, thumbs at his upper lip where it’s stretched tight around the silicone, smearing the sloppy spit out over his cheek, his jawline, then pulls on his hair lightly.

“We’ll have to work on that some more, but not tonight. Now, did you do everything I told you to, before coming to stay with daddy, baby?”

He prepped when they took turns in the bathroom earlier, and she knows it, but he bites his lip and nods. 

“I think so. I tried, daddy,” and though the wavering anxiety in his voice isn’t real, the desire to please her is. 

“Come on up here, and I’ll check,” Rey says, patting her lap, and he knows he’s going bright red again, the blush spreading down as far as his chest. She didn’t tell him she’d be doing this, but it makes sense, her wanting to make sure he’s properly ready.

 _Daddy wants to know if you were good_.

For a few moments, he struggles with exactly how to work it out logistically. He doesn’t really fit across her knees, especially not with the strap-on in the way, but he tries to position himself with as much of his weight on the bed as possible, his legs ending up mostly on the floor, hands braced on the bedspread. He expects Rey’s hands on his upturned ass, and doesn’t startle when she pushes his legs apart, rearranging him, her bracelet sliding cold across his hip. Then she’s holding him steady as two of her fingers trace down his crack and circle his stretched, lubed asshole. 

Ben moans. His dick is almost painfully hard, nestled in the rough space between her spread thighs, staining her jeans with slimy, sticky precome. Rey traces down to the seam of his balls, spreading the lube over the thin, delicate skin there, then comes back up, the pad of her thumb pushing at his hole. 

“You’re so open, baby. So wet,” she says, and his cock twitches, leaking some more as she easily slips her thumb into his ass. He is open, ready, _needy_ , just like she’d said, his whole body vibrating with the overwhelming need to fuck, to get fucked, her hand, her cock, her cunt, her anything, her everything. The need for her to tell him how well he’s done. 

Rey pumps her thumb in and out of him, slowly, taking her time, and he moans again, fidgeting in her lap and earning a swat on his thigh for it.

“Hold still. You’re doing so good, baby, hold on just a little bit more for me,” Rey admonishes. 

It wasn’t a real spank, doesn’t hurt, but he thinks he might want to try that, too, trite as it is, laid out over daddy’s lap to be punished. Still, he does his best not to move, not until her finger slides out of him, and she swats him lightly again, open palm across his right cheek.

“Up,” she says, and he stands, unsteady, trying to meet her eyes. Rey looks flushed herself now, strands of her hair curling behind her ears, cheeks and mouth a deep pink.

“You’ve been so good. You want my cock, baby?”

“Please,” Ben says. 

Rey shimmies up the bed until she’s leaning back on the headboard, fishing the bottle of lube out from under the pillows. She reclines, taking herself in hand, and jacks her cock, spreading lube up the glistening length, lets it drip onto her thighs where they’re already sticky-wet and stained from earlier. 

“Come here, and sit on it.”  


* * *

  
“You’ve done it before, right?” he’d asked her for the third time before they hung up, and Rey snorted into the phone, huffed, “What, like it’s hard?”  


“Is that… are you quoting a movie at me?”

“A classic. And of course, I have. Don’t worry. The principle’s not that different other than the prostate, and -- listen. Why don’t you come to dinner with me, first?”

“Dinner? Why?” he said, suspicious; on the other end, Rey sighed.

“Honestly, Ben. Dinner. Like people often do, before they engage in activity, sexual or otherwise. Didn’t you and Armitage go to dinner?”

“You want it to be like… you want to be like Armitage?”

“No, I ‘don’t want to be like Armitage’,” she said; he could picture the air quotes even without seeing her face to face. “But I _am_ asking you to dinner.”

“I can make a reservation for after work,” he said quickly; Rey snorted again.

“No. We’re not going anywhere that takes reservations and doesn’t even give you the kind of placemat you draw on. Isn’t there an IHOP over on Third? That’s kind of close to your office. I want waffles. With syrup _and_ whipped cream,” she said, and Ben hung up, heart pounding, because they were doing this, really doing this, and apparently, going out for waffles, and -- 

_Fuck_. Did waffles count as a date?  


* * *

  
It’s thick, so perfectly thick as it fits, sudden and huge, up into him, spreading him apart until he sinks all the way, ass almost flush to Rey’s thighs. He stays still for a moment, shifting his weight to his knees, careful not to crush her, but Rey fidgets, a little at first, then pumps up deliberately, shifting the length of her cock inside him. Her hands are on his hips, helping him move up and down. He can feel every ridge, every vein in the sculpted silicone rubbing up against his walls, fitting the two of them together just right, and he shoves his hand down, fists his dick, losing a thick dribble of precome onto Rey’s stomach.

“Not yet,” Rey orders. “Take your hand off and just fuck yourself on me, like that.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, jerking his hips. A fresh jolt of heat flashes through him just hearing her say the words; the bed dips and creaks as he stifles a moan against the back of his hand. Everything feels too good. He arches his back, and his whole body seems to flex around Rey’s dick. For a second, he thinks he might come anyway, but Rey shifts under him, unsticks her palm from his hip and grabs for his fingers, lacing them together. He doesn’t have as much leverage like this, but he likes it, having this extra point of connection with her. 

“Fuck,” he grunts again, moving in a shallower, slower rhythm, the drag of the dildo catching inside him. Rey watches him intently, squeezing her hand over his, says, “baby, look at you. Is this what you wanted? What you were thinking about?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, been thinking about it for so long. About you. Fuck, Rey, daddy, I -- can’t believe -- “

“I know,” she says, “I know. You’re doing such a good job, baby.”

He would do anything in that moment to let that stay true; he wants to be good for her, wants her to say it again, groaning helplessly, cock throbbing untouched as he grinds down into the strap-on.

“Come on. Get yourself there,” Rey says. He wants to, but still, he takes his hand back almost with reluctance, starts jacking himself, tight and fast.

“You’re so good,” Rey says, ragged, snapping her hips up to match herself to his pace. Everything starts to blur together: the stretch of his asshole around the dildo, the friction as he strips his dick, the room fading to nothing but Rey’s face in the wavering squares of light from the windows.

“Come,” Rey says, “you can come now,” and he loses it before he can even think, thick spurts of come landing on her belly, soaking into her shirt, his body stuttering, thighs trembling. He brings up his free hand and palms helplessly at Rey, wherever he can reach; her shirt is ruined, he realizes, fingers dragging through the mess of come on her stomach. Rey stills underneath him just as the dildo inside him starts to feel like too much, and he lifts up gingerly, sighs, letting it slip out.

He’s still catching his breath as Rey starts pushing her pants down her legs. She kicks them off, the shirt joining them; Ben stares at the reveal of her breasts with their pebbled, dark nipples. Her strong, muscular legs, the sparse, downy hairs on her thighs and the thicker, darker curls framing her cunt under the straps and buckles that anchor the dildo to her. The leather is shiny closest to her cunt, slick with lube and her own wetness; Ben leans over and begins to undo the harness, letting the dildo flag and slip to the side. He shuffles in between her knees and dives down, spreading her with his thumbs. He wants to bury his whole face in her cunt, smell her, taste her, get that tart, bitter tang and hot, slick muscle under his tongue.

“Baby,” Rey says, and Ben presses in, mouth traveling up her center to her clit, swollen under the hood. He curls his tongue, licks around it, then seals his lips down and sucks, gentle but firm. He slides a finger into her cunt as he does it, and she clenches around him with a soft flutter, so he adds a second, crooks them upwards and rubs little circles, looking for the spongy soft spot that sends more slick gushing down his fingers and palm. Rey makes a high, sharp noise above him, and tenses her thighs around his head. 

“Mouth, lower,” she says, and Ben obediently changes the focus of his tongue from her clit down to her entrance, tongue joining his fingers in tracing circles just inside, then moves back up, mouthing at her clit again as he fucks his fingers in and out of her in slow, deep pumps. 

“Ben,” Rey moans, and then something like “more”; he slides his tongue right back over her clit and licks it, direct and firm passes until she starts shifting her hips down onto his fingers, riding his face in small movements at first, then wider, faster, until it’s all he can do to keep up.

Rey’s hands land in his hair, tightening; she pulls him this way and that as he keeps working his mouth, sucking and circling her clit, keeps fucking her with his fingers before her cunt squeezes down on him in a tight, slippery grip. Then she’s pulsing, clenching, slick smearing liberally down his lips and chin. The muscles in her legs jump and tense, stomach flexing to the sharp rhythm of her breaths, until she finally relaxes into the bed, one hand moving out of Ben’s hair to push him back. He draws his fingers from her hot, still lightly spasming cunt, and sucks them clean, watching her sprawl in the bed, legs open, cunt dark pink, swollen and messy-wet. 

“Thank you, baby,” she says finally, and sits up. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he says, unsure whether to call her Rey or daddy, but she makes the decision for him.

“You’re a mess,” she says, slipping out of bed and giving him her hand. “Let’s go take care of that, baby.”  


* * *

  
He doesn’t fit into Rey’s bathtub particularly well, so she turns on the shower and gets in with him. He bends his head so she can wash his hair, fingercombing it through with no tears shampoo, and thinks of nothing other than how good it feels, everything blissfully, perfectly quiet save for her breathing, and the patter of water on the shower curtain and the bottom of the tub. 

She squirts facewash into his cupped hands and waits for him to rub it into his cheeks and chin, then tells him to step under the spray.

“Hold your breath, okay?” she says as he rinses.

She soaps up a washcloth and scrubs him everywhere, from the backs of his knees to his thighs, his belly, his armpits. She cups his cock and washes him there, too, the soft cloth sliding over his balls, the thin skin of his inner thighs. He turns around for her to do his back, and shivers a little as the washcloth dips into the top of his cleft, her fingers following, gently prying him open to feel at the slight twinge at his hole.

“Are you sore here, baby?” she asks, carefully swiping the washcloth up and down his ass. It feels a little bit strange, but nice, too, though not particularly soothing.

“Yeah, a little,” he admits, and she herds him out of the direct stream, gets down to inspect him, probing at the ache with a light touch. He still feels that odd, hollowed out openness in his ass that usually follows getting fucked, but it’s a good sort of soreness, and the sweep of her fingers feels right, feels like she could fill him up again, make it even better.

“It’s a bit red, but you should be OK,” she says finally, straightening. He thinks they might be done, but Rey presses a small kiss between his shoulder blades, the heat of her mouth distinctly separate from the heat of the water.

“Hang on just a second, all right?” she says, stepping out of the shower first, leaving the water running for him as she potters around her little bathroom, opening a cabinet, a drawer, rattling something in the sink. 

She helps him out of the tub and wraps him in a large towel; it looks suspiciously new, fluffy and first-wash clean, which means she bought it just for this, just for him, though probably, Ben can’t help considering, she was taking the opportunity to replace some of her own. But then, she waits for him to dry off, and hands him toothpaste and toothbrush, decidedly not the ones from his gym duffel that he brought along, but new ones, still in their crinkly plastic packaging.

“Give me that, I’ll do it, baby,” she says when she sees him staring at the strip of foil sealing the toothpaste tube; it’s “galactic bubblemint flavor”, the droids from Star Wars printed on the outside. The toothbrush is a translucent, glowing red, the handle shaped like a lightsaber.

“It lights up,” Rey says, “when you push the button,” and suddenly she’s the one blushing, looking at him in uncertain expectation. “Is it too much? I saw it at the store, and I thought you might like it, but I don’t know -- “ she trails off, and Ben presses the button on the side, watches the red flare to life as he squeezes toothpaste onto the bristles.

“I like it.” He turns on the tap, and says “Thank you, daddy,” with the toothbrush already in his mouth, so it comes out sloppy and garbled, toothpaste dripping down onto the sink. 

Rey smiles, and pats his hand. 

“We don’t talk while we brush our teeth, baby. And remember, you’re supposed to go for two minutes. Do you want me to time it for you?”

She holds pajamas out to him, after, this time the ones he brought with him, sturdy brushed flannel, the solar system planets print just a little bit whimsical. Rey herself has changed into boxers and another tee, and she watches him dress for bed, reaches out to re-button a reluctant button.

The air is muggy, hot. It smells like fresh laundry and shampoo, the minty touch of toothpaste and mouthwash. Rey’s hands travel down his front, rearranging his pajama shirt, leaving him shivery and tense in their wake, wanting to be closer again, tucked into her like earlier, when he knelt in front of her lap. 

“Come here,” she says, tugging on his shirt, and lifts up on her tiptoes without waiting for him. Her lips brush his chin first, then the corner of his mouth. He bends down, and then she’s kissing him, mouth tingly from the toothpaste, tongue pressing between the seam of his lips. Hers are a little chapped; she bites them a lot, he knows, an old habit, carries gloss and chapstick in all her bags and the pockets of all her coats.

Ben cups her jaw in his hands. She opens her mouth wider, sliding her tongue against his, and his mind turns blank, free of anything other than the way she breathes into his mouth, the way she tilts her chin and stretches up, wraps her arms around his neck. His dick is halfway to hard again, starting to tent out his pajamas, but it doesn’t matter; he relaxes into the almost meditative stillness of kissing her, the soft, wet sounds their lips make as they press together. 

Finally, she sighs, and pulls back slightly, though she’s still close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath as she speaks. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” she says, and kisses him one more time, quickly, then grabs both his hands to guide him back into the room. She pulls back the bedcovers, and settles Ben underneath them, turns off the light and climbs in behind him, legs immediately tangling with his, and an arm around his waist.

Ben closes his eyes. He’s comfortable, tucked in with her surrounding him. Rey’s breath tickles the back of his neck. She wiggles her fingers in between the buttons of his shirt and traces a small pattern on his stomach. 

“I like this part a lot, I think,” she says into his nape, her voice still gentle-firm, but more like the way she usually talks, not the way she’s been addressing him all evening. “Maybe we ought to start like this, next time. Get you nice and clean and ready, get you dressed, then you could come and sit in my lap before bed. Oh, and your hair. We’ll brush your hair, you went so sweet every time I played with it tonight.”

“Okay,” he answers drowsily, before _next time_ catches up with him. Next time. Rey is fine with there being a next time, or Rey _wants there to be a next time_ , and he turns in her hold, faces her on the pillow in the semi-darkness of the room, needing to know the difference.

“Can I. I can make you breakfast tomorrow morning?” he says cautiously, testing. 

“Mhhmm. Waffles,” Rey yawns, snaking her arm back around him, and nestling her head under his chin. 

“But you just had them. Earlier.”

“Yup,” she confirms. Ben can feel her nod against his neck.

“All right, fine, but will you let me make reservations somewhere for dinner next time? IHOP isn’t a, a date,” he says, and squinches his eyes closed tight, just in case.

“Is, too. But all right, fine. I’ll let you.” 

In the dark, eyes still closed, he feels her lips press softly into the hollow of his throat, just above his shirt collar.

“Good night,” Rey says. “Go to sleep, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> My [twitter is here](https://twitter.com/cracktheglasses) for kinksame or kinkshame purposes.


End file.
